its been super fun ladies i'm just so sad that the month is ending that i wouldn't know what to write.  ...so i won't.  

it would probably be pretty cool if this was a yearly type of event.  

i would like that.

whose idea was this?  it was a great idea.  i, too, thank mel for such a cute space to share ideas.  

it's been real,

i guess i'll go back to my own blog now. 

-Fox

Is this the end of the blog? Was the plan for just a month?
If so, this will be my last entry, and then i'm headed back to my page.
But from there, I'm still checking up on your guys and your blogs.
So keep writing. Thanks again to Mel for setting up such a cute page.


Its not unsual to spell one's name wrong.
Perhaps it's on purpose.
Struck from the record with one ragged
scribble is something we sometimes are.
Making one's self disappear comes next,
you could imagine.
The many places we could go. . .
Maybe, if you
listen closely
you can hear
the misspellings
of a gone man
Hear him?
He's there. And then with a swipe of a pen,
he's not.
How easy it must be and therefore not unusual
at all. To spell one's name
gone.

Chari---

mountain as a euphemism for man

i have climbed that mountain

and castrated it in my dust

i have stripped it cold

held its pride

in bear-trap hands snapped

and spit on the remains

i have cupped it

hushed it

sang it the lullabies of children

after i had blown sand in its eyes

and made it cry

i have cursed it wildly

with bohemian lips

while i finished the un-

timely emasculation 

and no mountain has ever looked

the same

A Hole

there's a hole in

the wall

by that i mean

there's a hole in THE

wall

by that i mean

pull your fucking skirt

   down

 

(or don't) 

        (but please do)

"Whatever!" she shouted, because she had nothing better to say.
Her friend told her that women didn't know what they wanted, in
response to 'boys are stupid!'

She shouted. Which was unlike her. She rarely raised her voice for
any reason. And rarely did she reply with silly ejaculations like,
"Whatever!"

She felt dejected and confused.

Lacking the Wisdom of Teeth

tick

                                                                       tick

                   tick

                                                         tick

                                                                                       tick

    tick

                                                     tick

                                              tick

                                                                                                                                tick

                      tick

  tick

boom

tonight something in my brain has 

completely exploded

completely

must it be the drugs

d(p)r(r)ug(e)s

m(s)ake  m(c)e  f(r)eel  l(i)ik(p)e

re(t)g(i)u(o)la(n)r

?? 

I 

n

 e

  v

    e

      r take drugs

but these are good

they must be. 

for example--

look at what i bought today!

(shopping as a form

of releasing the creative

from the barrel of the

subconscious)

those shoes! 

            drugs

those paintings!

            d r  u  g  s 

those underwear!

            D R U G S

i thank you!

too much

               a. i have spent

               b. i am spent

avocado is code

for weed

i think

A raindrop hit me right in the eye. . .

No Condition

I went in with a toothache...

and left without teeth

da hole wite side 

of ma mouf 

numb

for owwahs

and just when the new pain

was dulling

i thought to have some dessert

because ice cream is soft

and soft's all i'm allowed.

i saw the first on the stove top

dead center

live roach

the second by the sink

(what type?)

the third fell to my scream

from the cabinet

that holds our glass-

and dinnerware

and i reeled back

(lost the bugger no less) 

when my stitches were ripped 

out of my mouth

and i felt violet daggers 

of pain

(more intense than red

or yellow or white

is purple)

i really should spray

those cabinets

but damn it

i'm in no condition

(there are still stitches

but i'm in no condition)

Not to take away from Charish's plight...that is definitely more important...

My eye has looked like this or worse all day.  It is unpleasant.  In addition I probably have a new cavity or four...and a pimple.

This is SERIOUS. . .

I'm not writing poetry today, i'm taking a break to have a panic attack melt down. Dani can write for the both of us, i see that she already has. I need to tell you guys something kind of serious. For those of you didn't know (Jenna and Mel) I had planned to finish summer school, (in a couple of weeks) do my last semester, and then graduate. After that, I got the opportunity to travel to Thailand to teach English, by way of Professor Strickland and his connections. I was pretty damned psyched about that, right?

My mother blows that out of the water this morning by telling me that i might not do any of that stuff because it's possible that my dad will get a promotion within the company (Wal-Mart). That means that we'd go to the home office (Arkansas) as early as August. I started freaking out and I really don't know what to do at this point. I wanted to graduation in Dec, like you don't even know and now, i would have to go to U of A and graduate there. I don't know what kind of graduation requirements they have. For all i know, I could have a year left there.

My mom said if i could find a way to finish out here, I could try it. So I really want to look at that option. I actually need to find a place to live until December, until i go to Thailand or something. If you guys can think of anyone, that would be extremely helpful. I'm going to think about possible professors I could stay with or someone from the library. I'm trying to think critically under pressure and it's a lot to deal with. I'd really appreciate if you guys gave me some feed back. I'm sure you will. I will be talking about this in therapy today. (I'll talk about that later) :)

Charish.

The Black Man who Comes at 5h30 to Drink with his Buddies then play Racquetball

"Visionary" he called 

me while we

both fantasized

about putting alarm-

clock shaped holes 

in our walls.

I missed the connection

He drank coffee,

or vodka,

from his mug

La douche

Aujourd'hui 

je suis descendue au catacombes 

où c'était noir au milieu d'après-midi et 

il faisait chaud et mouillé.  

Où les bêtes habitent, 

où on est aveugle 

aux chutes grandes, 

aux petites 

choses noires qui 

filent à tout allure.

Je suis descendue au catacombes

sans personne

avec rien

sauf le corps

et l'instinct

et je me laissait 

me perdre

sans peur.

Mon dieu, ce que

j'ai vu! 

Le dragon féroce 

(sans l'abilité de respirer le feu) 

qui battait le cafard.  

Le prince haut pendant qu'il 

flottait sous des ballons.  

Le tigre avec le thé, 

le bateau des pirates 

(sans les pirates) 

sans son tresor, 

les dinsaures mortes et 

Jésus Christ peut-être!

Mais surtout le vagin!  

Ce qui est élevé, 

plus puissant, 

plus tout-savant que les autres.  

Le vagin qui épargne le monde. 

Le vagin qui gouverne le monde.  

Le vagin de la vie!  

Si beau!  Si sage!  

Pas le mien, 

pas le vôtre.  

Le vagin de Dieu! 

Tout cela dans l'écriture 

des cheveux sur les murs de la douche. 

For T

It is people like you

    [womanizing man-whores]

That make people like me

    [women]

Hate

    [men]

It is people like you

    [TCP]

That make people like me

    [DNF]

Glad for

    [STDs]

Quad

A ring of dead grass around a tree
one flag twirler who can't keep up
Twelve squirrels taking secret shits under secret rocks
Ants are crawling all over the goddamn place
All the while. . .
a spiders silk sticks to my face
not the horseflies that pester me.

I Want to Try My Hand

at being poor. I've got four dollars right now, how far can I stretch it? I got no kids, no bills, but I'm hungry and I'm bored: A dangerous financial position to be in.

at being crazy. I'm poor, I might as well be nuts. I might as well have no responsibilities and no worries. I like fried mustard, would you like a cup?

at being criminal. I'm crazy, I might as well be a criminal. I've got no serotonin or scruples, no money, and I'm hungry. I can burglarize a church, behead the clergy, and take the tithes.

at being institutionalized. I'm criminal, I might as well go the extra mile and get locked up. Three hots and a cot. I can make friends with Big Mama June, she's looking for a protege.

Exactness

Bugs have been squished.

          I won't tell exactly where

   (Willow St. (the kitchen, the bath(room

      )))

          I won't tell exactly what brand

   (Brand-name bugs imagine! (I mean (of course) 

     the types (I do not know (and don't care to

 )))

          I won't tell exactly how many

   (A lot (too many (too high to count

         )))

All I can say

                      exactly

is that bugs have been squished

      and 

  things are in motion...

I  am  inside  while  the sun 

broils  the  sidewalk  to  an 

astonishing 300 degrees C,

hot enough to extinctualize

some lost dinosaurs, but not

too hot for humans because

we are genetically superior.

In the future, us and genetics

will be a thing of the past, but

till then let us thank the God

in heaven (scenically located

3 miles behind the brick wall

at  the  edge  of  our  known 

universe - if you've hit the 

museum of lost space shit 

you've gone too far) that we

've been created in such a heat-

resistant image.

I recall that strange saying

about frying eggs on a side-

walk  which  is  laden  with 

germs and dirt by definition,

but it's not that hot or we'd

be vaporized instantly, like

vapor which we're not despite

some large percentage of our

bodies being composed of

water... supposedly.  I do not

like  people  who  only  use

clichés (but then again, 

probably yes i do) because

I can't get my brain to stop

screaming the word cliché 

and then passing judgments

on the person based on date

of cliché, age, race, and size.

Can't anyone think of some-

thing better to do with the

hot cement?  Like maybe 

melt a goldfish or turn chili

into lava.  Actually, today it's

not that hot out, it's really

very nice out there but still 

I am inside while the sun

broils a sidewalk in the 

amazon.  It's summer and

the breasts are in bloom.

Everyone is writing and they are missing their girl
Everyone is writing and they are

I am Everyman

I am the new King, the old king is dead, and I require a coronation. Come stand by my side, Queen. Drink in the sights of our subjects. We are powerful, have new money and drink the
finest wines that the gods can offer.

i am a spacey child whom people mistake for being "challenged." i talk to myself, i eat rolled bologna snacks. They are tasty. i have love and innocence. i have the ability to talk to dogs
who don't talk back.

I am a hooker. I work at night and give my monies to a tap-dancing pimp. I like nightlife, I love to boogie. I'm great at giving blowjobs and telling men that I dig their moves. I dig your moves.
I have a 401-k.

I am a compulsive gambler who has lost their shirt on more than one occasion. Any inside straight, any dog or horse, or boxing match looks good. I'll bet you. . . I need help. I need
a dollar because I'm good for it.

I am a cat. I have green eyes made of marbles. I walk around people who don't like me. I
like to rub against their legs and leave shudders and dander. Give me a mouse and I will
leave you alone. Give me a mouse.

I am a poet. I don't like saying that but I also don't like lying. Yes. . . I do. I know people. I like wine. I like mice. I like flattering men. I like throwing away money that isn't mine.
I like rolled meat snacks.

It was l o u d in There,

    Too l o u d to Think

beat skip

  through a hidden slide from first to

                                 

                   a chorus line.

find

   search

        command the F-

ing techno box so 

plugged

wired

electric zone for 

                    

                                  d a n c i n g.

she     is     in     me sweats to

fly feel cool 

                      cramp

release

of diaphramal sounds words

Foreign.

E's Plus

So I've been slacking <- truth.  I'm sorry <- mostly truth.  But I've been so busy moving in <- the whole truth.  In my free time though, I've created a game.  Here are the rules! 

To be played by 2 or more.

Version I:

Player one will think of a word with three or more vowels.  3 Consecutive vowels will be given followed by the word plus and the number of remaining vowels which will not be specified (before the chosen consecutive three and/or after).  The second player then has up to two minutes (or more or less if predetermined) to produce a word, without the aid of a dictionary, that fits what was called out (meaning the vowels must appear in order in the word, no other vowels sandwiched between them).  

ex. "eoe plus zero" ... player two thinks and then comes up with PEOPLE! 

ex 2. "oao plus 1" ... player two thinks and then produces a word like TORNADOES! (or POTATOES)

Order of a round -

Person whose name starts with the earliest vowel chooses to receive or give a word first. If the first vowel is the same, move on to the next until someone runs out of vowels and that person will not have the choice.

Person A gets the first vowel set and attempts to solve.  (This person has the ability to request a number of possible points to be discussed below)

Person B gets a second vowel set of the same potential point value and attempts to solve.  

Person B requests a new potential point value, gets a new vowel set, and attempts.

Person A gets a second vowel set of the same potential point value and attempts.

Play alternates like this until desired point total is reached and a person is declared winner.  

On scores reflecting multiples of 3, bonus round A can be requested instead of the normal turn (and second player determines his/her own potential point value or requests a bonus round).  On scores reflecting multiples of 5, bonus round B can be requested.  One person cannot request two of the same bonus rounds in a row.  

Bonus Round A-

All vowels are listed but not in order and you must use them all -> 3 points upon successful completion

Bonus Round B- A 7-14 letter word is given alphabetically -> 4 points

ex. aeenpprsw -> Newspaper

HELPFUL TO BE PLAYED WITH TEXT SUPPORT (i.e. via the internet and/or with pencil and paper.... no dictionaries!)

Scoring -

On a word with only three vowels: 1 point for word

On a word with additional vowels: 1 point for word with only the three vowels given; 2 points for all vowels

Extra 5 points awarded if the word given matches the word that was originally imagined. 

Points are lost when:

-A hint is requested, -2.  Hints are to be in the form of part of speech of word, placement of extra vowels, number of total letters.  A hint renders the extra 5 points void.

-Word given is not an actual word (see Scrabble challenge rules), -3. 

Negative scores are possible.  

No points are lost or gained if time runs out but the turn ends and the next player may go.  

It might sound a bit complicated...but it's not once you start playing, I promise! It's super fun!  And challenging!  

Version II.

Similar to version I. except for the following twist:

In addition to the three vowels (plus x), up to three consonant rules can be given as well, either letters that must be used or letters that are not to be used.  (Ex. oie +1; must use a z.....TERRORIZE) 

Instead of extra points when word matches, extra points awarded when consonant rules are given and the word does not match. 

Re-reading this, this seems very very complicated.  It's really not. 

p.s. the name of the game is the game in action ... eee +1... Cerebellum!  'cause the game takes brains!  cool huh? 

guy had no clue
weeding on my throax for an hour on holiday
i make a list of possible phone topics
saturday night’s reflection
listening to the horrifying sound of his urine. measuring distance
from the tip of his member’s
yellowed canons doing their long tumble
from my pillow
not to mention boring
not to mention boring

My Body Belongs to the Sea

so when I die I will want a grand Viking funeral.
I will want my body wrapped in a muslin shroud
and shoved off the gang-planks. I will want someone
to say a few words. The captain from the Love Boat
will do. He's bound to be looking for work. When my
body hits the waves and pulls me into the cold deep,
I will want my friends to sing old Prince songs and then
old Irish drinking songs. I will want my sister to recite
a dramatic interpretation of Shakespeare. Something
from A Midsummer Night's Dream will do. She's
always made a brilliant Puck. She's always full of
shit. I will want someone to fire the canons. At least
nine of them. No less. When my body is enveloped in
the sea grasses and passed from Poseidon's realm
on to Hades', I will want more than a pocketful of
gold coins. I have a lot of bribing to do down there.

What My Therapist is Telling Me

You're a shrunken cereal box
with no toys, no tattoos, no raisins.
Waiting like Lot's salty wife for the
Holy Land, the one that overfloweth
with milk, honey, and Crispix.

You could have killed the last honey bee
in America without realizing it. Or did you
do it on purpose? You were transferring your
dependency issues onto the wildlife.

I'm not going to come out and ask you
anything. I don't care if you did kill the
Docile European Honey Bee, that's not
my problem. I'm just here to drop a bomb
in your ear and let it marinate.
I think it's interesting that you don't talk
about your mother. . .

Ka-Boom.

the skirt hangs over
a plastic hanger
wished itself wood,
without me in it
now it's paper
wished itself wood,
i imagine myself hanging
in the dress on the door

this means nothing

i should be outisde
on the concrete slab,
sizzling like meat in a pan

a small fake panneled
wall saves me
from the obligation
of showing up

repeat that one part

the Mississippi’s waterbag
is between us
separating our love
like a giant diaper

This Living Hand

This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calmed—see here it is—
I hold it towards you.

--John Keats

This Happens Every Day

puis-tu imaginer

la tête qui grandit

jusqu'au soleil était

caché et tout la terre

s'envelope dans une 

feuille de glace

dans l'ombre 

tout d'un coup

à cause de toi

et personne d'autre.

c'est ça que je pense

pendant que tu parles

et je n'ai rien entendu.

elle est si jolie!

What? No,

I'm paying attention.

sauvé par la memoire audio.

The Frequency of This Happening is Also Rather Astonishing

Asleep on the couch

DO NOT

think I can't hear

you eating that

sandwich

made from bread

you must have stashed

in  your

condom-

drawer

because I've checked

and there hasn't been

any bread

but the butts

in this house for

a week (or more!)

and I'd know,

because I really want a sandwich

love goes anywhere
then too many times waking up leftless. the light is terrible. we live in a calendar together (ends in –ar have hard time remembering this spelling) and goddamnit microsoft w. stop automatically taking over my life with your masculinized autocorrections.
i live in a calendar (-dar –dar –dar) the month is june. you could not name your baby September in this country but that woman did.
the Brookfield zoo is a haven of mullets and legless people. i look around the elephants at these mullets. great big cultural hairdoo of the Brookfield zoo. legless person with mullet. that monkey has its very own mullet hairstyle.
love goes to the zoo in underwear
to wake up from my nap leftless
love goes to the nap smelling of wet
deodorant but i have to leave the room
then come back to really smell it

Our bus was detoured for about
a block or so, causing two elderly
women to walk down the street
to catch the bus. They ambled---
and it took them four minutes but
they were going at top speeds.
It was the most excitement they'd
seen in weeks. They talked very
loudly to one another, recounting
the awesome tale of walking fast.
The event reminded them of the
time the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor.
They walked fast back then. But it
would have taken them less than
four minutes to reach a bus down
street. They talked loudly back
then too.

Outside
today is a good day
for children to practice witchcraft
with twig hairs

Inside
I hear
a goldfish putter
“I love you
we can conquer this
woman to fish”

Remember Mom’s nag
“You really ought to know
if the person you love
is a drunk
or not a drunk”

but I’m not scared
of these cul-de-sacs

The Colonel

The Colonel's whole body danced

when he hiccuped

his energy noises.  Hidden

in the shelves

of books, we heard him before

we saw him

we should've run the opposite way

to busy our faces with philosophy

or history

or religion

or sex

but POETRY!

The things I've sacrificed for poetry! 

How strange the violent hiccups

How animal-like

the southern gent mustache,

earth's growing, moving, reminder of

the Civil War... or

the Alamo. 

-Look! Look! Watch it wiggle!

-No I'm too afraid.

Wimp!  This is my favorite

poem by E.E. Cummings.

Could I talk to you for a moment?

Go back to Kentucky,

I am scared of you.

-Uh, sure

From his slightly

unkept body

he produced a pendulum and

made us watch as it spun

above all 5 of his fingers,

one finger for each minute

he captured and tortured

our attention.

We did as he said,

stretched out our arms,

put our fingers this way

and the opposite

over our heads and

between our eyes while

he flailed about, 

preaching about chi and chakras.

A hippie with windblown white hair!

Ripe with odor!

I've got good energy

said the creepy man.

I learned so much.

felt it in me

where the circle cover meets
white/white pseudo ruffle cover
i mean my bottom scatter things.
just dweller notice they say
shield it.
movies and coloring books
dust shifts to the carpet
and grows the snuff crop
until i suck a few

my sphere hosts the mess
mirroring the crumbs in my head
motifs clash, it's not how
i wanted it.
the storm will only offer a
deeper, confused
powerless and not stopping

on this day 16

in the green sound
surrounded i was, i ran.
no gold, chrome or mass
the wind found
me round and rang me
behind what i called the sun.

just volume i measured.
blew the verse
till it knew me
broke the line and
cradled a word.
nothing became a word,
nothing came of me.

i followed you.
tried to subtract the self
confess less
lure the technique
but i you

i. you.

Extremely small children weird me out
They're too small for comfort.
They've got the same body as I do,
just shrunk down to the size of an
obese beagle.
And that creeps me out.
I didn't deal well when my little sister
was younger, I
had nightmares about her sneaking into my
bedroom and killing me.
she didn't kill me. . . but still.
It was definitely alarming.

God is not like
catching a somebody
on a dark highway
changing a billboard

Where From Do They All Come?

The Chinese tourists, who are really students,
huddle together and read the city's map.
The woman in the next kiosk has a distinct
African-ish quality that warrants a
thunderous speech.
The man with a push cart is coughing up his
last dream and last lung filled to the gills with disease.
We all choke on the same burning diesel fuel
when running after an early departure.

goddamn hillbillies
no one can float two houses
must be selling drugs
Sue told me
or it was the other Sue
our new neighbor here
was some type of dancer
kind of trashy
kind of hillbilly like
where did all these
goddamn hillbillies
come from?
and their five
goddamn hillbilly kids

The Beings Pouring Out From The Chateau

Pick one from this list:

Mentally

Intellectually

Cognitively

Developmentally

Very

Now pick one from this list:

Disabled

Challenged

Handicapped

Impoverished

Slow*

Needy*

Retarded*

Whatever you call them, 

they're swarming this city. 

What's going on??

The Special Olympics!

Oh. Ok. Good.

*I do not recommend this choice.  It is politically incorrect.  I am politically incorrect.  I have listed the choice.  

"I left the last page with some haste," he said
breathlessly. "The words were spilling over the
edge and threatening sloppiness. I had to
get out while I could. You understand, right?"
No one understood. In fact, they were
shamed by his floundering and panic. He knew
the risk behind each word he wrote down.
He knew their implications, repercussions, and all other
"ion's." It's a hairy business, when you don't plan ahead.
But he was different, so he though. Things
were different these days. Not the case, they
warned him. "I can go back," he told them
wiping the sweat from his brow.
"I can fix it. The words are already there. I can just fix them."

Portrait: Our Parents

I am the tattered remains of a flower child
From the high courts of Haight and Ashbury.
I play the ghost of a busted tambourine
I spin under a wilted daisy chain wreath.

I am the lost nobility of peace, love and good will.
My father is the sun and my mother is the earth
They have communed with the celestial beings
Luna, Sappho, and Diana.

I once shouted amongst brethren against
hate, war, and evil
My sister danced at night to the tune of a million
sugar cubes, my brothers sang songs of freedom

We are exiled into a foreign world now
One of shirts, ties, and brassieres
One that lasts from 9 in the morning to 5 at night.
One with wars.

I am waiting to seek refuge in the old kingdom
I hope they can still hear my tambourine.

hip hop scotch 

to the 

ends of the world 

but hold on

or you will fall off.

nothing's ever circular

there are edges!

those gusty space 

winds will send 

you spinning 

to some galaxy where 

the aliens are people and 

we are the aliens 

without second

THOUGHT: There are

no

winds

in

space

only time

spacetime

and bodies.

bodies too far away to touch

story of my life

story of the universe, too

all the action is long over and done

there's been no play since the 

big bang

god came too early

'cause we've all been drifting apart ever since 

getting further from everything 

getting close to no one

space knows no bigger commitmentphobe

Could we try again?

I've been practicing...

It's so lonely in the center.  

Sonnet I (Ode to Bridget)

We connected originally over a scandalous book

While you served your time in the Cardio room.

It was immediately after that very first look,

Feelings from down-under came to bloom.

But today (of all days!) we shared a drink,

However unsavory it may have been,

It was but our fourth meeting, methinks

And I wait near-silently till fate smiles again.

You are the music of the piano personified,

As sweet as the smoothie we both hated,

I raise you in praise to the countryside

So why have we not yet mated?! 

O! Bridget! Let me count the letters of your name,

Eleven! It is meant to be! Mine is exactly the same!

If Maya Angelou were Old and Delusional

she'd say, "I like the sound of blackness cascading against the rainbow backdrop that is my muesli. W.E.B Dubois would say that the conglomerate of blackness is richly dichotomized. Yes, I said it, dichotomized. I used to be a dancing chicken-headed ho. I was once friends with James Baldwin, he was such a queen, such a black queen. I'm such a crazy bitch. Anyway. . . I wish that Oprah girl would stop pestering me. She wants validation. The summer months are beautiful when you are black. The dandelion fluff is made for you. I like the sound of my own blackness cascading against the rainbow backdrop that is my dangerous love for granola."

babies are not afraid of feet
parents hate their feet
why?

Henry thinks my feet are cute
parents love the small feet of babies
but hide their neon losing
toes w/ xtra bones

babies enjoy naked bodies
porn stars enjoy their naked bodies
porn stars are like babies
who have cute toes

old sidewalkers
losing neon
between toes
& poorly assembled
knee bones
lost in cul-de-sacs

This is a Limerick

Ask how many bugs I ate today

"Way too many" I'll gladly say

It's not a taste I like

Oh the perils of a bike

I just wish they'd all go away

(this was kind of fun.  i hadn't written one of these since grade four.  yay formulaic verse!)

i google the keeper
i search for information
regarding the flow, the effects,
my consciousness spurs a social
sigh of relief

instead, i learn about a movie
nonetheless, the keeper
desrcibed as an "absorbing thriller"

i use the keeper
i do not watch the movie
yet the movie and the alternative to
the tampax
share a desrciption

Two Imports Later

"Oi, oi, oi," I wanted to say after the first Smithwicks.
How cool would I have been?
I held my tongue even though it threatened to loll about in my head.
The bar was full of fans
and a blackened cat fish sandwich and fries never tasted so good.
I don't follow futbol, but I do follow a friend.
"OOHHH!" The Netherlands score and Italy looks dejected.
I missed the whole thing, I was taking a drink.
I'll be sure to shout for the next goal.
My friend hunches over his plate and turns up his Carlsburg.
This is the life. Or the lunch. This is what it's like to be young.
Oscar Wilde would have something witty about compadres
sharing beers and watching organized sports.
Or he would have stolen something witty.
After a London Porter
all of the men on the Dutch side
look fine as hell, even that goalie
with the misshaped ears. I love the Italians.
"OOHHH!" Again?
"Did you see that?" asked my friend.
I catch the instant replay which is just as good.
It doesn't matter. I 'm too far gone to care about who is scoring.
Not far enough, however, to see the beauty and the amazing feats
performed on a field by shin guarded warriors.
This is what it means to be young, I think.
Young and drunk and together with compadres.

tomorrow
be kinder to write a poem
the only form of intelligence worth having is a kindness one
the government does not make that test or own that test
such a test would be unkind

Remember when you were a snowman and

I was all of your snowflakes at once?

And when you melted in the sun

I was all of your molecules

But you were my atoms

Together, so entwined that I never ended

And you never ended

Till we were infinite streaks of light

Traveling faster than we were allowed

you are not
to be let

not to be let
go

essay test

i use senses apportioned
she plays OED game
bringing the
observation to an obvious sexy
i fantasize
let slip
in a not-so-convincing tone
finger me, Thesaurus
pick my outer layer: shimmy the dead shell:
salivation escaped to moisten
the molting process
that was alliteration
so and so punctured your calcium deposit
i notice these things
by sneaking a peeled eye
i couldn’t finish
the stem changing conjugation
yesterday, i need more time
i used your dictionary
i looked up "come"
my mom opened the door
before i located

*i couldnt figure out spacing, it was cooler when i wrote it earlier

Childhood

Four dark girls with pencil thin legs
and neon shorts followed their mother
like ducklings to one bus from another
One was sucking her thumb
One was sucking back an Orange Crush
One was licking an ice cream
that dripped down her closed fist
The last was licking, enthusiastically, a red sucker
She'd never get to the stick, though
Not even with her verve
They weren't a loud bunch
nor did they act out like
some other bunches might
They just followed
with their oral fixators
in their neon colored outfits
on their small dusty-handed-down jellies
beneath their brown pencil thin legs.

She photographs
a series of Illinois
haystacks

this old summer
        old winter
her tall child

we are healed light
standing on moss
along sailboats
rich with light

for our children’s
children

Hello
was doing a weekend with J but now we are back.


we could have been naked
driving for the storm slate ahead
photographing postcards
for our children’s
children
napping in the mobile
left with your family
futon
fiesta wear
blanket & oatmeal
on my arm
ride home
long since
I read your obscure parts
& neck aloud
or any poem
toward the lighting
my parents let me
shower under

This (and an undeserved sense of badassness and/or entitlement) is why other countries hate America

Enter man and woman, both supersized, the woman supremely so.  She is too good for Starbucks air.  She has her own oxygen in tow.  I can't help feeling that she looks sad.  Sad in the way hospitals make people look sad and small and scared.  They both have rotton haircuts.  They have both piled into chairs.  She forms a heap.  It is impolite to stare.  

Enter Barista.  "Venti Mint Mocha Chip Frappucino?"  The drink is not in question, only the owner.  The woman claims the calories.  WE assume the Venti Caramel Frappucino in the Barista's other hand, then, belongs to the man.  We are wrong.  The Barista too.  The woman claims the calories.  The man gets only a Grande.  He reads, she drinks, she watches.  Is he going to finish that?

Enter boy with hideous face.  He sits, he drinks the second Venti, he ruins my story.  Damn.  Boy reads.  Man reads.  Woman, cup entirely drained, watches.  She wears a dress.  It's funny how ugly flowers are on dresses.  

I wrote you a poem

then I swallowed it

because I know 

that's how you'd want it

if you were here

but you're not

here

(this poem was for yesterday! I just didn't get home till late! there will be another from me!  I was hoping we were still on Pacific time.  I thought maybe I had a chance.  Alas... I have failed.)

The Dance

I danced to Bjork until I got a
headache and sweat collected under
my arms. I made wild disorganized
moves that were instinctual and
entirely uterine and somewhat majestic.
My sister watched me for a couple minutes,
but went back to her work.
There were about six or seven minutes
where I just heaved and hoed my
body about the room getting back
to my roots. Primordial and without
a home. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't
skilled and it shouldn't be on television.
But it is willed and it is there and it is the
beginning.
The rhythms are sex and birth and
throes of death. I didn't know this,
these word, these articulations.
I know the feelings though.
The sweat on my lip on the nape of
my neck collects and it is real.

$2.50 Upon Entry, 40¢ Per Additional 1/5 Mile

If I were a taxi driver

I'd be a lesbian taxi driver

I'd say,

"Yeah baby, get in Foxxxy's cab

I'll take you places you ain't never been..."

I'd say it real smooth

And I'd even say ain't like that too

Because sometimes I really think that word

Except, then, usually I feel shame.

It's Over

There might be sniper fire
But I am presumptive
This is about you, though. . .
The blue collars, the red-necks, the welfare mommies.
I cried a little, that's what happened
on the east coast.

There was some bullying some entitlement some preaching
We saw an American iconic event/hero/grace fall/rise before
the people. We the people
saw a herculean women fall to her knees and cry:
"I'm in it--- TO WIN IT!!"
A young boy, a little brother, came to her side
and silently glorified in her descent. We cheered him on.

We saw and we congratulated the boy
who survived long enough to
be swallowed whole by our gusto.

for Henry

possibly because you are the only person I know
from Kazakhstan?
and resemble a potato

you are very special
and three years old
(you also have lesbian parents and I think
that is very cool)

I never knew
how many animals
one knows
and can draw

today
draw sleeping chikmunk, swimin dolphin, elphant, graf, little guy, dog, cat, zebra, that, dragon, lion, turtle, rhino, hipplepottlemus, duck, draw duck walking, bird flying, Henry!

possibly because you held no
grudge after
45 minutes
wresting a pair of navy shorts

if you had a gun
you would have shot me
in the foot
but ten minutes later
you told me
I love you

I teach you how to picnic
yes, the guinea pigs should join
and the ants
babyseal, whale, dolphin (in the deep blue sea)
should join
to share
Mac & Cheese in the sun

Portrait: Gary (Bus Driver)

I got this talkative bus driver
named Gary, who makes it his
business to know where you're going, even if you didn't say hello to him when you got on the bus; even if you are wearing headphone.
He's got this belly that's as full
of hot air as he, and this white
beard, and these copper aviators
Gary, the bus driver, reminds me of what I thought Gary Snyder, the poet, looked like before I actually saw his picture.
It turns out that Gary Snyder, the poet, is or was,
depending on how one looks at him, an attractive man.
A little on the hippy side, but never. . .the. . .less.
"I'm not coming back this way later on," says Gary, the bus driver. "You're going to want to take the Nite-Ride back home," says his arrogant-all-knowing belly.
I nod under my headphones.

The Tour

Let me be the first to welcome you all to the word factory.  This here is where language is made.  Each of these great machines turns out thousands of letters per day. Oh look, you're just in time to watch the K's roll out!  K K K! Oh boy!  Over there, inspector 11 is in charge of the the.  No teh gets past him when he's on duty!  His wife is pregnant wouldn't you know!  Can't wait to get that baby on the line!  No, that's a joke.  We abandoned child labor years ago.  Terribly inefficient.  Cheap though.  Very cheap.  Watch your step, come this way.  At these tables, new words are coined.  Our most brilliant minds work post-office-style hours to make the slang for the children.  Manually scrambling the letters like that really gets their juices flowing.  I'm sorry, madame, was that too graphic?  What are they working on now?  Looks like "Vlape."  Meaning what exactly!?  That will never stick, guys.  Try again.  Just start over.  Oh how embarrassing!  Not everything they come up with is as brilliant as I give them credit for.  I just say that.  It's positive reinforcement.  Corporal punishment?  Oh, no, we abandoned that years ago.  Too costly.  Gents kept quitting.  We've reached the part of the tour when it is advisable to use the restroom facilities.  Once we move to assembly room 2, I'm glad to say, the excitement makes stopping just torture!  The excitement, and well, the danger.  Oh nothing too serious.  We haven't had a single death since last month!  No, I'm just kidding, no one has died since '97, before we got those new, stricter laws.  The kid deserved it though, bloody little wanker!  Yes, yes now you're catching on!  I tell these jokes to keep it fun.  Fun makes you tip better.  Lord knows I need the money.  None of the other guides tell jokes; they think it distracts from the extraordinary things that go on here.  Me, I figure, a little joke now and then couldn't hurt.  Is everyone back?  A water fountain is on your right if you need it.  No! Sir!  Stay away from that door!  Oh my!  That one too.  Behind there, they are making the world's supply of profanities.  Well, behind that door there, they're making love.  That's enough water.  Time to move on.  Please secure your children.  Let's go!  Quickly please!  This way! 

With words that describe you
I start sleep
at sight we blush
four more senses
to go

thinking as a poet
what exactly is happening?
I am allowed another sense

the way is linear
why tho?
feels inherently
circular

I am allowed another sense

My sunblock

My sunblock contains Homosalate.

I contain Homosalate.

My sunblock contains Octisalate.

I do not contain Octisalate.

It came in a dream

Eat paste, potato lips!  

I am uterus exposed! 

My construction 

Paper shirttail has finally 

Come unglued  

I'll give you my tongue 

Depressor castle 

If you'll be my friend.  

Do I look swollen to you? 

I can't understand you(r), beatnik 

logic  I am puking light!  

I am beheading princes of faraway thrones!  

It is never 

A good time 

Unless 

Someone is dying.  

You next?  

Who me? 

Rugelach

I want to be a rugelach.
I'd like an excuse to say
something in Yiddish for once.
I'm not a Jew, but I know
a putz who is constantly
shickered and drives his
motha' meshuggener
I want to be a rugelach
with old world cinnamon
and Brooklyn apples, with
some chopped stereotypical
walnuts, who say: "You're
getting skinny, you need to
eat!" I've got to shout it with
a nasally accent from a laced
doily on a cookie platter. "Eat
the rugelach, bubula, it's your
favorite."
If I were a rugelach, I could
feed my grand-children
savory treats from "Old country."
We could sing songs and stuff our
faces. We could nosh to our heart's
content.
"If you come visit Nana, I'll tell you
story of how I met grandpapa in
the Warsaw Ghettos, eh?"
I would be a wholesome treat for the kiddies

Mom!
Let’s talk
by umbilical cord
like we used to

Mary Kay Harms

We are bears.  We are giant bears and she is black or brown or goddamn fucking Smokey for all I care, but I am Polar.  Polar because people like me are all but extinct these days.  Renaissance people like Da Vinci.  We are kindred spirits, Leo and I.  I'd let him draw me naked.  We'd joke and he'd get pissass drunk and make his move and I'd tell him to fuck off and then we'd solve puzzles together.  Or maybe invent stuff.  Leo's ghost hops gleefully somewhere beyond the grave because it likes the idea of being bearlike.  If there is a beyond the grave.  I don't know when a black or brown bear would fight a polar bear but they are sworn mortal enemies.  That is a fact.  The world is filled with facts.  There is another.  

We are maybe more like dogs.  Starved dogs.  Dogs that grew up far from homes where the porch light was on.  The kind that fight in basements for mexican aliens (the only real aliens?).  Vegas odds are 4 to 1 that she'll win but I've got gusto and nothing to lose.  Shit.  I wish there was something to lose.

What it (costs) to wake up

I've got coffee balanced (clenched)
in my right hand.
There's swine frying (crackling)
behind me.
The world is beckoning (calling)
from the front.
Yoo-hoo! Hello there!
I look expectantly (cautiously)
at the news channel it (caws)
like an incessant crow telling me the (crazed)
shit that's going on outside.
Get a load of this!
There's bombs blasting and (catching)
kids on fire. There is beautiful (chaos)
stripping the world and the like (clean)
of intelligible (convictions)
Look what I've got!
Well guess what? My coffee's gone (cold)
I'm now in (capable)
eating breakfast ('cause)
the whole world's gone to (crap)
My job is done!

ses·ti·na (n) a poem of six six-line stanzas and a three-line envoy, originally without rhyme, in which each stanza repeats the end words of the lines of the first stanza, but in different order, the envoy using the six words again, three in the middle of the lines and three at the end.



A Bold Attempt at Sestina

Technology has failed journey.
Restless limbs in contempt
succumbing to a preview of closeness,
she gains ground by way of a chord.
This lack of understanding
must be crazy to leave.

Knowing the date, stalling the time to leave
the plan is rush the sidelong journey.
Grapple with a minutiae understanding,
head, heart together in contempt
knowing the best part of her cannot travail the chord.
Knowing it only comes in closeness.

Enjoyment comes in a secluded closeness
when she stays, the objective is to leave
in a forward way and to embrace a tiny chord.
In a clear moment, she realizes the dual journey.
The sentiment lessens to blunt contempt.
There is a chasm between understanding

and the act of her understanding.
Love is now used in an exclusive closeness.
She does not offer a hand of contempt,
shame, or malevolence. They boast and leave.
Although words may emblazon the journey,
her fingers answer to a swollen chord.

How can I screen the chord?
Opening lids, full-wide to understanding
the ideal of an intellectual journey
is the ending, resulting in mere closeness.
There will be a time she wont decide to leave.
She senses a lack of contempt.

The annual feeling resembles flight. Contempt
to stay, cutting the love chord,
going to leave,
recognizing the false understanding,
once more to shun closeness
and avoid a black journey.

Blaming the brain and spinal chord, she rejects understanding
for a postponement in contempt of physical closeness
to leave the aftermath of a completed journey.

I didn’t know Harvard
okay
I knew it was a good school
but
didn’t know it was the place
well
I knew it was a good place

Hey

Hey you!

Black boy!

I'm onto you

Not in the way you wish I was

Onto you,

In the way that creeps me out and doesn't

Get you off

I don't flirt

With boys.

Remember when

You saw me in Wal-Mart

And you called out and gave your

Nod of approval - as if

I asked you 

Or something.

Do that head thing again and 

I'll sock you in the eye.

Hey you!

Brown face!

You're not the first

Not even the only

Of my classless, tactless suitors

Paul?  Steve?  Dennis?  Whatever.

I don't even know your name.

Hymn of the Foofy

Gracious be thy Foofy
Hallow be they foof, for foof come
To the Foof of yesteryear, I say
Foofy!
To the foof of present, I say
Foofy!

Yet only a forsaken Foof
Unto us resounding, Foof recall

For the clever Foof, forever foofdom
Coming together to witness
The Foof from within
Surmounting to her voice, on high

And she said “Joy unto the Foofy!”

The Drive to Champaign

This land is too flat and green. I've dreamt of escaping in a small vehicle for ages. People from Georgia will pass by and honk from a raggedy pick-up. I'm going to pull over just to sit because it's just that sunny or it's just that stormy. It bothers me not, that my journey could end in fire.

An odd tree is giving passengers the middle finger. Some Kerouac passed by in a brand-new old Jaguar. And soybeans are roasting beneath the sun. Horses hang in trailers staring glumly at yellow barrels. If no one has to use the restroom, I suggest we roll down the windows and listen to the wind. Don't it sound like Neil Diamond's Greatest Hits?

Old farm houses made three years ago, just 3, host malignant barn birds on window sills. A semi-wants to use that land for an I-Hop: Dinners/Break-my-fasts. Refused to stop for Cracker Barrel. U-Hauled or Hailed us all this way--- a torn rubber tire on the side can manage the rest. Stops are on high alert. I want to see what's in those woods.

A tub is dragged to the next town and under an overpass scrawled with "Peace." I'm getting trucker arm on my left ear. A lone Pentecostal building stands on a hill and Wal-Mart leers lasciviously at it. They're really pals on prairie grass. Toking together thoughtfully. Power lines and Cellphone towers . . . there's no joke lined up.

I've thrown my book aside for the road. Williams passed by in a sports sedan browsing Paterson, like he's never read it before. Dust flies everywhere but the dusty road and begs for a new set of tires to tread it. I didn't put on any deodorant. I will indulge at the lodge with free shampoos. I can take whatever the fuck I want. Don't you see? Fill up on petrol and dreams. Get nasty, get greedy.

Time runs, crawls, and it creeps. It doesn't fly. Where'd you get that idea? I found a piece of driftwood in the meadow. No whales are out this way. The kids are full, imagining active clouds on a static horizon. The mile marks are not consistent and the motorcycle brigade is tough as nails. Keep on turning that radio dial, the frequency is jaded.

Catch-Up

Long nails, like heels, inhibit women.  "My nails look fake!"  My mom doesn't know this or she would not have sounded so joyous.  15 love. 

When I'm in the groove, when I'm dancing, the last thing I want are tiny 5th graders and slightly gargantuan 3rd graders all up in my business.  They think they can dance.  And maybe they're a little bit good almost, but I dance black magic.  Like unicorns in rainstorms.  Like gummy bears with kidney transplants.  They are not old enough to understand.  I will not be made fun of.  I will tackle a bitch.  30 love.  

Work: Mc Hammer.  Rufus Wainwright.  The Temptations.  Something Corporate.  Eminem.  My Brightest Diamond.  David Bowie.  Edith Piaf.  Feist.  T-Pain.  Neutral Milk Hotel.  Lady Sovereign.  New Young Pony Club.  Billy Joel.  Lil' Kim.  Metric.  Coldplay.  Yael Naïm.  The Magnetic Fields.  Stars. Scissor Sisters. St. Vincent.  T.I.  Imogen Heap.  P:ano.  One Self.  Fink.  Kelly.  Yo-Yo Ma.  Adele.  Eve.  Emily Jane White.  Emily Haines & the Soft Skeleton.  The New Pornographers.  Santogold.  Diam's.  Status IV.  The Virgin's.  S Club 7.  702.  ???  30 15.  

Way too much pressure

How will I ever write something

good AND cool!? 40 15

One two many numbers to name in Amazonian languages where the difference between a 3 piranha attack and a 12 piranha attack is negligible.  Many as an X of sorts as in X men have been killed in the great hunt.  What does X equal in this equation?  X > 2 = no one cares enough to specify.  Turns out, all infants are born with the ability to count - no matter if they'll have the vocabulary tools to prove it.  One too many Mickeys have been sacrificed.  40 30.  (Many Many.)

Let us all thank Hitler for Linda.  Adolf, father of the Nazi regime, father of the blow up sex doll.  She is blonde for the Aryan race.  She has 10 gallon salmon-tipped milk-jugs for pleasure.  All because no self-respecting Nazi soldier should EVER fuck a French girl.  Deuce. 

I've learned that a sphere (of three dimensions by definition) that passes through a plane appears as a series of circles (of two dimensions by definition) that get larger and then smaller again to the 2D observer on the plane.  Gluing them together again produces the original shape.  It is by the same logic that a hyper-sphere (of four dimensions by definition) passing through a 3D world (ours) would appear as a series of spheres getting larger and then smaller to the 3D observer.  Gluing them together again produces the original shape.  I offer you now a glimpse of a world with four dimensions. 

Those oblong like shapes are supposed to be circles which are supposed to be spheres.  Advantage. Fox. 

for the 24,593 blue people
of Belvidere

praise wife Sherry
husband Gary
kind eyed people
in the brick cafe

making hand art
so mugs
items, plates
made hand art
in my hand art
windy colors
strange knobs
multi-grains
spinach leaves

the brick cafe
apologies for Bush

not for my girlfriend
who hugs me
in the brick cafe
on a visit

from my 147,779
one choice
coffee cup town
and no
Panini bread

who tell the people
take your guitar
and poems away

New legacy

enter: crackling newspaper
or unapparent store big bang
inviting an enlightened survey
for the Illinois Circle Tour

muse: on hull
your attention, house invite
youth, house invoke
stuck in the shadow, now of "g"
will your name vanish from the textbooks?

prey: a politico
your successor's guilt meant
nothing,
the inviting mattress, naught

figure: on changeling
hormonal elegy
arithmetic breath, still more
with no numbers pumping a bloodstream
formulas end

Welcome!

To ease the separation anxiety caused by collectively hundreds and hundreds of miles, this cyber café will house the poetry of four great writers and kind thinkers. Since me, Jenna, Danielle aka Foxxxy and Charish no longer have the luxury of proximity, this blog not only functions as an inspiration for work, but also as means to keep in touch.

This is a collaborative effort to post a poem a day for the entire month of June. When it gets busy-and it will, so busy that a day passes without a poem or musing, it is suggestible to post the work of another author or possibly something interesting that happened or that one saw on the news or anywhere that could some way inspire future writing. Or something beautiful. Or something ugly. SO yeah! Let the blogging ceremoniously commence!

Much love,
Mel